


Tell Me You Love Me

by badboy_fangirl



Series: Incidents in the Life of Lincoln Burrows [3]
Category: Prison Break
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 17:00:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10575615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badboy_fangirl/pseuds/badboy_fangirl
Summary: When a crisis strikes, Lincoln has to re-enter Veronica's life.





	

**Author's Note:**

> In most fics, when anything is alluded to with Veronica's dad, it's negative. He was an abusive drunk or whatever. In this series, he's a good guy. Michael's remark to Veronica in Brother's Keeper about Lincoln helping her with her dad back in the day had a different outcome in this series.

 

_ Soft lips, softer skin, the softest breath wafting over the sensitive places on his body, he groaned and reached to pull her tighter against him. He couldn't get close enough; there was always too much space between them. In his heart, he knew he wanted to be inside her and until that happened there would always be too much space between them. _ __  
__  
_ And he could never be inside her. He shouldn't even be here like this with her. How had this happened? _   
  
Jerked awake, whether from the distant rumbling of men's voices or because even in his dreams he knew he shouldn't be touching Veronica Donovan, he wasn't sure. Lincoln Burrows pressed his forearm over his eyes and pushed out a stifled breath. His body was tight, hard, aching. A minimum-security prison wasn't the place to have needs that couldn't be assuaged, in anyway, so he reached his hand down to adjust his pants just slightly. Five days, five days until he was released.   
  
Not that that would solve the problem he was currently thinking about. He seriously doubted the wife who said he could come home when he was released wanted to play stand-in for the woman he was dreaming about. He thought of her as a woman now because she was finally over 18. The last time he'd seen her was the day before her birthday, in fact. Not that their conversation had entailed birthday wishes, or anything of a light nature. No, that had been another conversation about good-bye. They were getting good at saying good-bye though neither of them meant it.   
  
He'd had six months to sit and think and think and sit; during that time he'd come to two conclusions. The first was that if he wanted Michael to have a chance in this world, and not end up like him, he had to get him enough money to go to college. The second was that he was in love with Veronica Donovan. That was why he couldn't stop thinking about her, or just let things go. It had seemed so stupid when it occurred to him; she had declared her love for him on more than one occasion, and he had had the inner back and forth with himself about how he  _ could _ love her, and  __ if circumstances were different, well, then Vee would be the girl for him.   
  
The truth was: Veronica was the girl for him. And he could never have her. Because he would never ask Lisa for a divorce. He would never leave his family. He would never be like his own father. Maybe that's why his father had left, some other woman. He'd never thought about it much. He'd always just hated his father for being a drunk, for being so irresponsible that he'd leave a little boy alone with a mother who was about to deliver another little boy. He'd never wondered if there was some reason, some other woman. What if his own father had left because there was someone like Veronica waiting in the wings?    
  
Lincoln vowed he'd never do that to LJ. If it killed him, he'd choose his family every time. Well, from now on. Because the whole reason he was in jail was because he'd been jealous of some punk who might or might not have had carnal knowledge of Veronica. That was the promise he'd silently made to Lisa and to LJ, who would be a year old in two months' time. He wouldn't miss any more important events, like the ones he'd already missed. LJ had learned to crawl, pull himself up on furniture, and had taken his first steps, and Lincoln had heard all about it, but not witnessed any of it. Like a knife through his belly, the shame of missing those moments was tremendous.    
  
He might dream about Veronica; he couldn't control that. But he could control everything else, like where he went and how he acted when he got there. If she turned up anywhere he was, he would leave, plain and simple. If he saw her anywhere, he would just go the other direction. He only had to make it until the fall anyway, because hopefully she would go away to college and then he wouldn't have to worry about running into her at all. She'd go to college, meet some accountant type, settle down and live in the suburbs of Madison. She'd move on with her life.   
  
Then it wouldn't matter that he loved her. The decisions would be out of his hands.   
  


Lincoln's boss, Bill Friedham, was a generous guy who didn't hold it against Lincoln that he'd gotten into a barroom brawl. His job was waiting for him when he got out, and he went right back to work, both for the money and to show Bill his gratitude. It had smoothed things over with Lisa quite a bit as well, and she had been civil those first four months after he got home. LJ had been a little shy with him at first, but eventually warmed up when he realized how much Lincoln enjoyed him. There was no awkwardness in the holding of his son, though it had been 5 months and 29 days since he'd seen him. That had been a fear of his, one of the random things that ran through his mind during all that time when he had nothing to do but think—maybe his father had left because he just didn't love them. Would he just wake up one day and not love LJ? It was bad enough he didn't feel much above mild affection for Lisa, but LJ was another matter entirely. When he'd seen his son again, and the powerful feeling invaded his chest, he'd felt like a fool. Why would he stop loving his own son? He'd never stopped loving Michael, in all his life; if anything, the older Michael got, the more Lincoln loved him because he had grown into such a great person, devoted to his family and anxious to help out any way he could.   
  
While Lincoln was in jail, Michael had started working for the construction company, after school, of course, but doing everything he could to help Lisa make ends meet until Lincoln was back on the street. While all that was happening, Lincoln had had a cellmate who had given him an idea of how to get Michael through college. Just as graduation approached in June, Lincoln dropped the surprise on Michael that there was $90,000 just waiting for him to pick the school of his choice with. What had led to this revelation was a conversation where Michael told Lincoln that Veronica had been accepted to University of Illinois down in Champaign. Michael had mentioned it because Veronica had also managed to get a full academic scholarship to which he'd grumbled, "Her father could afford to send her, but no, she gets a scholarship." It wasn't that he didn't think Veronica deserved good things, he just knew he'd never get the chance to go, and that had solidified the idea that had come to Lincoln while he was in jail. He'd gotten the money from a friend of his cellmate's with the promise of paying interest on the principle until he could pay it off. He never thought beyond that agreement, because if he had he would have confessed to himself that he'd never make enough money to ever pay it back. He didn't want to think about that, because he just wanted to wipe the look of hopelessness off Michael's face.   
  
"So I've had $90,000 just waiting for me all this time?" Michael asked, disbelief plainly written across his face.   
  
Lincoln couldn't contain his grin of glee. "Yep."   
  
"Why didn't you ever tell me?"   
  
"We couldn't get our hands on it until you turned 18 anyway, so why tease ourselves with what we couldn't have?" And Michael, whether he was so overjoyed to know he could go to college without any problems or just because he trusted Lincoln so much, bought it, hook, line and sinker. When he applied at Loyola and was subsequently accepted, everyone in the Burrows-Scofield house was overjoyed. The only other thing Lincoln had required of Michael was that Lisa not be made aware that Lincoln also had a share of their mother's "life insurance." Michael frowned at that, but agreed not to mention it. Lincoln told Lisa there was only enough money for Michael, and even if she'd wanted to argue about it, she'd known she couldn't go against a dead mother's wishes, or Lincoln's obvious desire that his brother be given this opportunity. In the end it had been a dance of lies that Lincoln hadn't known he was capable of maneuvering until it was finished and Michael was absorbed into the college life.   
  


George Donovan stared at Bill Friedham before pointing at Lincoln. "I don't know about having him work on my house. He's been known to get himself thrown in jail."   
  
Lincoln bit the inside of cheek so as not to defensively yell at Veronica's dad, who had hired Bill's company to do some renovations on their 30 year old home. Lincoln was only there because it was September, and he knew that Veronica was long gone to Champaign, where she was going to college. Michael had stayed local, but Vee had been smart and gone a few hours southwest of the old homestead. He hadn't seen her since that day she'd come to the jail, even managing to avoid her at Michael's high school graduation.   
  
"Mr. Donovan, I can vouch for Lincoln. He's one of my best workers, and he's the only one with experience in this type of renovation. I need him to oversee this project so when I can't be down here all will still go smoothly. Can you overlook a minor mistake with that sort of recommendation?"   
  
George looked skeptically from Bill to Lincoln and Lincoln fought to keep his face from showing his anger. Even in that moment he knew it was more about Veronica than it was about George thinking badly of him. But a job was a job, and he did his best to appear chagrined. "If there are any problems, I'll let you know," George finally said, which was neither a yes nor a no, and Bill turned to Lincoln and nodded as if it were a stamp of approval.   
  
"We'll start on Monday," Bill said.   
  


Veronica looked at herself in the mirror. The cream-colored bra and panty set was just the right combination of lace and silk, and she thought, said  _ classy _ not  _ slutty _ . The reason for the matching underwear was that she was going to attempt to let some boy have a peek at them. Well, not some boy. Chet Robbins was a senior at University of Illinois and she had met him on the first day of school because he was a teacher's assistant in her Business Law class. She'd taken it on a whim and discovered that she really enjoyed it and changed her major already from 'Undecided' to 'Law, with an emphasis in business.' Chet was in his last year of school himself and planning on going to law school once he got his B.A. They had a lot in common academically. And while she wasn't the least bit attracted to him, she had decided with some lack of romance that she should just get over the whole virgin thing. Once it wasn't new and scary anymore, she might stop dreaming about Lincoln being the one to deflower her. Because that was never going to happen, and being in love with a married man was ruining her social life. Or at least it had been until she met Chet. She giggled as she heard the rhyme in her head.   
  
"I'm leaving, Veronica," Jasmine, her dormmate said from the bathroom doorway. "Are you coming home tonight?"    
  
Veronica turned to look at Jasmine. "Do these look like the under things of someone who's coming home?" she asked, flashing a coquettish smile and waving her arm to indicate her ensemble.   
  
Jasmine laughed and said, "So when am I going to meet this guy?"   
  
"After tonight, I think you'll see him a lot," Veronica said, turning back to survey herself in the mirror. "Or maybe you'll just see a lot less of me."   
  
"Well, in any case, have a fun night. Think of me, slaving away at the library while you're having hot sex."   
  
"You got it," Veronica said with another smile even though Jasmine's words sent panic shooting through her. She had only ever thought of sex as something she wanted to do with Lincoln, and now she was seriously moving towards having it with Chet. She wanted to feel good about it, but instead she felt like she was making a big mistake. "Your only mistake was ever hanging around with Lincoln Burrows," she told herself firmly. She pulled the dress she had selected for her evening out off the hanger and slipped it over her shoulders. It was the same color green as her eyes with cap sleeves and several buttons right down the middle. She was pulling it together over her breasts and buttoning the first five buttons when she heard a tentative, "Veronica?" from just past the bathroom door.   
  
"Chet, you're early!" she gasped and spun towards the bedroom, holding her dress closed so he didn't get a sneak peek. But it wasn't Chet standing next to her bed.   
  
It was Lincoln.   
  
Her eyes rounded in horrified shock and she blinked stupidly until she realized it was really him. And he looked extremely agitated. "What are you doing here?" she asked, completely at a loss.   
  
"Vee..." He took a step towards her before stopping. "I couldn't let you get a phone call, I had to come...oh, dammit, why is this always how it is?" He shoved his fingers through his hair and then sent his hands deep into his pockets.   
  
"What's wrong? Michael, is he...?" She couldn't even conjure a world without Michael, or a reason for Lincoln to be here. She took a step towards him, forgetting about her dress not being buttoned. Then his eyes dropped away from her face and she remembered, remembered the pretty panties, remembered why she put them on, remembered how once upon a time he was the only one she would have ever wanted to take them off. The worst part was, he still was the only one. She hadn't seen him in almost a year, except for a glimpse of him at her graduation. That glimpse, seeing him with LJ in his arms and his other arm around Michael as Lisa took a picture of them had been burned into her memory as the last time she would ever see him. But here he was. And nothing had changed. He still made her weak and strong, hot and cold, loved and hated. She was all things with Lincoln, for Lincoln, because of Lincoln. And he was all things to her.   
  
"Michael's fine, nothing's wrong with Mike. It's...your dad." He had moved closer to her, or maybe she'd kept moving towards him, but now there was only a foot of space between them and she shook her head because it didn't make sense. Even if something were wrong with her father, how would Lincoln know? "I've been doing some renovations on your house, for your dad, and he was there today, didn't go to work because he wasn't feeling well. Turns out...he had a heart attack, Vee." By the time he said the words 'heart attack' he had put his hand on her arm. "He's bad off, and I came to get you, to take you home, so..." he faltered. "In case," he finished.   
  
She stared at him as though she didn't understand, and that was partly true. In the part of her brain that had to function to survive, she was able to finish buttoning her dress, walk over to her desk to get her purse and grab the coat that hung on the back of her computer chair. When she turned around to follow Lincoln to his car, she asked the strangest question. "How did you get in here?"   
  
"I saw your roommate at the door. When I asked for you, she assumed I was some guy named Chet, let me in and told me what room you lived in." He watched her carefully, as though she were a ticking time bomb. "Vee, are you okay?" He moved towards her again, and tried to touch her, but she turned away to slide her jacket on.    
  
"It's a long drive, we better get going," she said, matter-of-factly. She knew she should be crying, that there should be some feeling associated with the idea that her father might die, but she didn't feel anything, couldn't see anything except that Lincoln shouldn't be there. "Does Lisa know you're here?" she asked, turning back to look at him.   
  
He grinned crookedly, unable to stop it. "Yeah, and she's pissed."   
  
"All right, just so long as we know nothing's changed."   
  
His hand reached out and wrapped around her arm, pulling her towards the door, even when she tried to sidestep him again. "Oh yeah, Vee, nothing's changed. Not a damn thing."

The car ride was exactly two hours and eight minutes, which was exactly five minutes less time than it had taken Lincoln to drive down to Champaign. The drive itself was supposed to take almost three hours, but he had managed to escape the radar of any cops both directions.    
  
Veronica had not spoken the entire way, though Lincoln had told her the main ideas of what had happened. The construction crew had all been back from their lunch break for about 15 minutes when Lincoln had gone inside to ask George Donovan a question, smelled burnt toast and found him on the floor in the kitchen. Someone had called the paramedics, and now her father was at County General because it was the closest hospital to their location.    
  
As they pulled up in front of the hospital Lincoln couldn't help but wonder if he taking her in there just to find out her father was dead. Veronica's parents had split up when she was fairly young. Her mother traveled a lot because of her job, and was currently in Europe, so there was no point in calling her, though Lincoln had mentioned it. Veronica hadn't even looked at him when he said they should call Lydia. She'd been eerily silent, watching the sunset and the city lights come on as they traveled closer to Chicago.    
  
"Vee?" he asked, when she didn't seem to register that they'd come to a stop. He jumped out of the truck and ran around to her side, opening her door to help her out. Her eyes came up to his, but he had the distinct impression that she didn't see him, at all.    
  
He led her into the hospital and up to ICU where the ER nurse had told him Mr. Donovan would be placed by the time he could arrive back with Mr. Donovan's daughter. "Excuse me," he said, and the on-duty nurse behind the desk looked up at him. "Hi. This is Veronica Donovan. Her father, George Donovan was admitted earlier...?"    
  
"Yes, he's on our floor, but let me get Dr. Romano. He was the surgeon who operated."    
  
"Surgery?" Veronica's voice startled Lincoln and he turned to her while the nurse paged Dr. Romano.   
  
"Yeah, remember I told you he'd be in ICU after they did the bypass surgery."    
  
"Oh," she said, but whether she had any recollection was a mystery. Lincoln wrapped an arm around her and pulled her into his side. A few moments later, a small, bald man with a very brisk manner approached them.    
  
"Ms. Donovan?" Veronica nodded. "Hello." He put out his hand to shake both Lincoln's and Veronica's hands. "I'm Dr. Romano. I operated on your father about six hours ago. The surgery went perfectly, and there were no complications. However, due to the length of time between when his heart attack occurred and how long it took him to get to the hospital, he was without oxygen to his brain for a bit longer than we're comfortable with. We'll know better when he regains consciousness, but for now, I would prepare myself, if I were you, for the possibility of permanent damage. Worst case scenario." His glance moved swiftly back to Lincoln. "Are you the one who performed CPR on Mr. Donovan? I was told someone at the scene attempted to help?"    
  
Lincoln nodded grimly. "I did what I could."    
  
"If he comes out of this coma even at 70%, it will be because of you," Dr. Romano said and he gave Veronica a little smirk. "Good guy to have around, I'd say."    
  
"Can Veronica see him?" Lincoln asked.    
  
"Yes, but just for a few minutes. He's susceptible to infection right now and I'd prefer to keep the traffic down in there. Marcy," he barked to the nurse behind the desk. "Take Ms. Donovan down to see her father, and make sure she gets scrubs and a mask." He handed Lincoln a business card. "My pager is on the bottom there. If you come in tomorrow afternoon, I'll make sure to be around and have an update for you." Marcy came around the desk and took Veronica gently out of Lincoln's grasp.    
  
Lincoln watched as the nurse escorted Veronica down the hall. She looked very small and he wished he could go in with her. Instead, he lingered a little bit behind and watched the door close slowly as Marcy took Veronica away.   
  


When Veronica emerged from ICU, she seemed to have reconnected with her emotions. She had talked quietly to her father's motionless body, pressed a kiss to his damp forehead and then whispered that she loved him. As she walked down the hall to Lincoln, who was waiting patiently for her, she started crying and was instantly enveloped in his arms. As though he'd just been waiting for her to need this, he offered her the strength of his body and she clung desperately to him.    
  
They stood like that until the first wave of tears subsided and then he tried to lead her to the door, but she said chokingly, "I don't want to leave. I know I can't stay with him, but can we stay here...please?" She didn't know that her tear-streaked face would have moved a heart of stone, and obviously, where she was concerned, Lincoln didn't have one. He walked with her into the waiting area and they sat down. Magically, tissue appeared under her nose and she gratefully accepted it from him. "He looked pretty bad," she said, wiping at her face. "He looks a lot older, all of a sudden. I don't know," she whispered, shaking her head. "I've never thought about what I'd do without my dad. He's always been there. I don't know if I could make it without him."   
  
"Yes, you could," Lincoln said, his voice low and intense. He held one of her hands and his eyes watched her face, though she only made eye contact briefly before either looking away or wiping her nose some more.   
  
"My mom's too wrapped up in her life. I'd be alone in the world, Lincoln. There would be no one for me. Just me, no family."   
  
"You have me and Michael," he reminded her.   
  
Her gaze swung back to his. "I have Michael. I don't have you." She sniffed. "That's for sure. I don't have you."   
  
"You think I wouldn't be there, when you really need me?" he asked, and she could tell that hurt him.   
  
"Lincoln, you have a family. We've already been over this, haven't we?"   
  
"That was so we didn't do something stupid. This is important. I would be...I  _ am _ here. Look at me. I'm here. You need me and I'm here."   
  
She squeezed his hand. "And I'm glad, but how long will we be like this before 'something stupid' happens? Nothing's changed. I haven't seen you in nearly a year, and look at us." Her eyes drilled into his. "Right back where we started."   
  
He allowed her the moment, the emphasis, not speaking, not breaking their eye contact. She continued to watch him until his gaze did drop away, but it only fell as far as her lips and she knew that was all it had taken. Now both their minds were on something that they couldn't do anything about. She squirmed in her pretty panties and brought the sight of her father in his hospital bed back into her mind. She closed her eyes, and the war waged. How wonderful it would be if Lincoln could make her forget for a moment; and how wonderful would it be to know she wouldn't be alone, not just today, but always? "Besides," she said, trying to bring something else back into focus. "Michael and I...it can't stay the way it's been. We're growing up and apart. He'll meet some girl, and have a new life. I'll just be a girl he used to know."   
  
"You'll meet someone, too, Vee. I mean, didn't you have a date tonight?" His voice was positive, as though offering encouragement, and she thought sourly how that was the last thing she wanted him to say.   
  
"Chet!" She suddenly realized she hadn't even left a message for him on her door or anything. "Oh, man. I totally forgot..."   
  
"I'm sure he'll forgive you when he hears what happened."   
  
"Yeah," she said as more tears welled up. "I'm sure he will." Lincoln's hand wrapped around her neck and pulled her against his chest. She buried her face there in the soft cotton of his t-shirt and breathed as deeply as she could. His scent, the combination of soap and man that she always associated with Lincoln, was one of the best smells in the whole world. And it didn't matter how many Chets there were, or if her father survived, she'd never have this, never have enough of it. "When I was a little girl, Daddy promised me I'd always have him. He'd take care of things, of me. But he taught me how to take care of myself, too. I mean, I got myself into college and everything. I know I can do it on my own, but I don't know if I can survive him dying. Not right now." She sniffed and wiped at her face some more. "You know, even when he came and got me from the police station, the night, you know, when you got..."    
  
"Yeah," Lincoln said, his fingers stroking over her hair.    
"He yelled at me for a long time, and then the next day he came and he asked me why I had been out with Rich, and why I was doing stupid stuff like that." She pressed her face deeper into his chest, into his smell. "So I told him. I told him I loved you and you were married, and I was just so sad." She felt his stroking hand clench around a handful of her hair, but he didn't say anything. "You know what he said to me?" She didn't wait for him to answer, but he shook his head anyway. "He told me that was just how it was for him with my mom. He loved her, but they wanted different things, and so he had to learn to find other things that mattered to him. I was what mattered to him, Linc. Me. Without him, I really will be alone."    
  
His grip on her tightened and he rocked her back and forth a little. "You'll never be alone, as long as I've got breath," he whispered, his mouth grazing her hair. She wasn't even sure he meant for her to hear it, but she twisted in his arms so she could slide her arms around him to hold him as tightly as he held her.    
  


When she fell asleep, he waited fifteen minutes before scooping her up against his chest and carrying her out to his truck. She slept right on, her sweet breath against his neck and her arm curled against his chest. He deposited her on the bench seat in the truck, and draped his jacket over her so she'd be warm enough on the way home. She didn't stir at all, and he took the long way around, so by the time they got to her father's house, she'd been sleeping for nearly an hour.    
  
He parked the truck and looked down at her. Her head was in the middle of the seat and he let his hand drift back into her hair. It felt so good to hold her, to touch her, to caress her. What little comfort it gave her was the least of his motivations. Doing it was necessary for him; touching her as much as possible in the small window of time he had with her was his most prevalent thought. He knew he should call Lisa. It was coming up on 10pm and he'd been gone since early afternoon, right after George Donovan had been whisked up to surgery.    
  
Lisa had yelled like a banshee when he told her where he was going, and it had pissed him off so much that when she demanded to know what time he'd be home to take care of  _ his _ son, he'd told her she better find a sitter, because he didn't know. They hadn't fought since he'd gotten home from jail, but he hadn't had to choose between her and Veronica for any reason since he'd gotten out either. This was a choice he couldn't be faulted for. Veronica was one of his oldest friends, regardless of how he felt about her. No one would expect him to do any less than he had for her. As his fingers skated over her cheek, brushing her hair back from her petal-soft skin, he knew that what he was about to do everyone would and should fault him for. But he was going to do it, and he wasn't going to think about how he would feel after. Instead, he would focus solely on how it would make Veronica feel.    
  
He got out of the truck again and circled it to the passenger side. When he pulled Vee out this time, he jostled her enough that her eyes fluttered and she murmured incoherently as her head tipped against his shoulder. He let his lips slide against hers softly, briefly, but with enough pressure that she couldn't ignore it unless she was really out of it.    
  
"Lincoln?" The question was there, just in the upswing of volume at the end of his name. He carried her up the porch steps and into the house. He'd taken the spare key from the key rack earlier that day. He locked the door behind them and followed the hall down to her old bedroom. After laying her on the twin bed, he turned on the bedside lamp. A brass bed with silk sheets couldn't have looked more inviting than the sight before him at that moment.    
  
Her face was awash in golden dimness and her eyes followed him the way they had since he was 15 and she was 11 and he understood that she worshiped at the altar of Lincoln no matter how unworthy he was. He had never appreciated it more than he did right now, and he stretched out on the bed next to her, pressing his lips to hers again, lightly. A new tension invaded her body, but this one had nothing to do with grief or fear or anything remotely like either of those emotions. She gasped as his tongue traced her upper lip and said his name again, only this time the question was missing. Instead a promise wafted to him from it.    
  
But he wasn't taking tonight, only giving.    
  
He unbuttoned the dress she was wearing. There were at least fifteen buttons down the front and slowly he undid each of them, exposing her smooth skin a little bit at a time. Her stomach undulated under his fingertips and her nipples hardened, pushing against the cream-colored fabric of her bra. He leaned further down and pressed light kisses to both her breasts, through the lacy covering. He let his eyes feast on the luscious curves for several slow seconds. His memory was going to fuel him for a long time, and he needed more to sustain him than their brief encounter from two years ago. That night he hadn't taken time to enjoy her at all, because he'd foolishly believed it was the first of many times. This time, when he unfastened the front closure of her bra and slid his fingers across her sensitive skin, he memorized everything: the feel of her, the smell of her, the small, gasping sounds that escaped her throat. She arched into his mouth while her hands came up around his shoulders.   
  
"No," he said, moving her hands back so they were on either side of her head, resting on the pillow. "I need you not to touch me, okay, baby?" His lips whispered over hers. "Promise me," he commanded, curling his fingers around hers to show her to grip the pillow if she needed something to hold on to.    
  
Her languid eyes moved across his face and she nodded in a drugged sort of way. "I promise," she repeated huskily, and the words were better than fingertips across his stomach.    
  
Nothing was going to stop him tonight, loaded guns, fathers, vows, babies. Nothing.    
  
He pulled the dress open so that her panties were exposed to the light. Skimming his fingers down the inside of her thigh caused her to whimper and press her legs together as if trying to trap his fingers there. He moved down so his head was level with her hips, tugging her panties down the gorgeous expanse of skin that seemed as golden as the gates of heaven. Spreading her legs was his intent, but suddenly shy, she whispered, "No, Lincoln." Her thighs were clamped together now, but not in trying to hold him there, but in trying to keep him out. Continuing his downward journey, he brushed his lips over her navel and the sensitive skin right below it. He nipped gently with his teeth and laved with his tongue until her panting breath was so loud that his hand was able to push between her thighs with no resistance on her part whatsoever. Her breathing was so rapid and heated that he couldn't resist leaning up and kissing her mouth thoroughly as his fingers parted the soft skin between her legs. She cried out as though in shock, but her hands didn't move from the pillow.    
  
This was all for her, the only thing he had to give her ease. And no matter how hot it made him, he was going to do it the way he'd envisioned. "Baby, I'm going to go down on you," he whispered against her lips and her eyes blinked luminously. "I want to love you," he said, his voice warm and low on her skin.    
  
"I wasn't ever with Rich," she confessed, her voice strained. "Or anyone. Only you, Lincoln. I swear."    
  
His heart thundered against his ribcage and he felt a gratitude he'd never known before. He got to have something this way, something that was just his. Her first orgasm would be his. He whispered, "I believe you," before moving down between her legs.   
  
Several minutes later, her thighs were clamped around his head and her hands were clenched in his hair. He rested his face against the heated curve of her belly and let himself enjoy the lingering sighs and spasms of her completion. Pressing a kiss to her navel, he rose up and gently extricated himself from her hands. "You broke your promise," he said playfully, pinning her hands on the pillow again before kissing her softly. He intended it to be the finale, but her fingers had laced through his and she responded to his kiss with a carnality that hadn't been there before. Her tongue teased his bottom lip before moving into his mouth and he was suddenly being kissed in a way that promised this was only the beginning. He pulled away, breathing harshly and he jack-knifed himself off the bed to make sure it went no further.   
  
"Lincoln," she cried, climbing to her knees on the bed and following him, reaching out to snag his wrist as he got clear of the furniture.   
  
He wanted to pull her back into his arms, and strip the clothes completely from her body that now just hung open. But that wasn't his intent, and he wasn't going to let himself dawdle. "I have to go, Vee," he said, reaching to tug her dress over her breasts so they weren't peeking at him and distracting him.   
  
"You can't leave now," she exclaimed. Her hand moved up to touch his face. "I want to love you, too," she whispered.   
  
He closed his eyes and then dragged her hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss into her warm palm. "No, this was just for you," he said softly.   
  
"Do you think it somehow makes it not cheating if you don't come?" she demanded, some of the fire of her passion for him spilling into anger. Her cheeks pinkened up and he felt a new surge of lust fire through him. This wasn't good, he already needed at least three cold showers, and he needed to get out of her bedroom ASAP.   
  
"No," he said, his voice rough with emotions kept in check. "If anything, this way it's more, Vee." He touched her chin with his forefinger and thumb, pushing her face up so their eyes met firmly. "But I'm not sorry. I don't want to be sorry. If I leave now, I won't be. Please," he whispered, and he clenched his jaw in an effort to hold back the warmth he could feel stinging his eyes. "Vee, let me do this."   
  
Her green eyes glistened with sudden tears and she whispered, "Then tell me you love me."   
  
He leaned into her, pressing his mouth once more to hers. "I just did." 


End file.
